


Alone

by Nicowafer



Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicowafer/pseuds/Nicowafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Dahl contemplates while incarcerated at Arkham Asylum</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

`“Baby don't wanna, noooooooo NOOOOO....” The tiny innocent child-like voice of one Mary Dahl AKA Baby Doll disturbed the silent halls of Arkham Asylum as she was carried to her cell kicking and screaming. It was a chilling sound heard in the halls of such a place. The attendants weren't even sure what to make of it.

“You sure about this, Jerry? She sounds just like a little girl.” Roger scratched the back of his head in confusion. He had two little girls, both sounded and looked almost like this one and they were dragging this one to a cell; it just felt wrong and left him with an ache in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, don't worry; she's like in her 30's. Remember that show? She was the kid. Did that till she was 20 or so. It's pretty creepy. Got the shortest end of the stick compared to any of them I think.” Jerry was trying to be gentle with the child-like actress, but it was hard not to just let her go considering her size. Her Arkham uniform didn't even fit, not at all. They had found a shirt that fit; even then it was still baggy on her slender shoulders.

“Baby wanna go hooommmee, helppp meeee...” She stared at Roger; he seemed softer hearted than Jerry, her eyes betraying her age, darkly lined and crystal blue. Roger turned away from her pleading gaze and put his key card into the cell door to open it for Jerry.

“Yeah...I guess so.” Roger wasn't sure how he felt at all now, but his stomach still hurt.

“Come on,” Jerry settled the now docile doll into her cell; she seemed to have stopped trying and resorted to crying softly on her bed. “I'll get you some coffee. She'll be fine in there.” And the men walked away leaving the small woman to ponder her fate.

And ponder she did. She was in the asylum for a reason she figured. But why? Hadn't she just been giving people what they wanted from her? Hadn't she just turned into what they had wanted? A child that never seemed to grow any older. Who was always perfect and sweet and pleading, cloyingly so. She sat up on her little cot bed looking around the dank and depressing room, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of a small, well-manicured hand. Her curls had lost their bounce and spring without maintenance and she figured eventually her manicured nails would go by the wayside as well.

Why couldn't things just work out the way they were supposed to? She had been wrong, there was no doubt about that now, but then her taste in men had often been questionable. Not that any of them had ever reciprocated, ever. Croc could have been different, he was; he had used her, used her brain because he didn't have one.

The little thing lay back on her bed, staring up at the empty pitch black of the ceiling. When that proved too unsettling she rolled onto her side, curling into the blanket and clutching at the pillow. The dark had always scared her, it was empty and it made the loneliness that much harder to swallow.

Loneliness was something she should have been used to by now. She had always been alone; she couldn't recall happy memories of childhood unless you counted the TV show. She didn't anymore; it was a bad memory, rotten to the core. It had certainly never helped her. Her parents had left her to agents and nannies; it was easier to deal with her when she wasn't around. She had no idea where they even were now; no doubt living on her broken fame, they knew her when she wasn't crazy; probably writing a book about what it was like raising her, regardless of the fact they had nothing to do with it from the time she was 10 until finally she wasn't their responsibility anymore; until she flopped.

Even flopping she had done on her own. Everything in her life was a single person activity. She had acted alone, she had planned and plotted alone and now...now she was in her cell, alone. Mary wondered if maybe a psychiatrist could cure loneliness, make it not so hard to bear, but she supposed that was a bit much to hope for.


End file.
